“Did you?”

“I thought I did. I wanted to. Now, I don’t think I do.”

“Nor do I,” Alleyn said.

“On arrive,” said Raoul, turning into a narrow street. “Voici L’Escargot Bienvenu.”

ii

It was, as Raoul had said, an unpretentious restaurant. They entered through a portière of wooden beads into a white-washed room with fresh window curtains and nine tables. A serving counter ran along one side and on it stood baskets of fresh fruit, of bread and of langoustes bedded in water-cress. Bottles of wine and polished glasses filled the shelves behind the counter and an open door led into an inner room where a voice was announcing the weather forecast in French. There were no customers in the restaurant, and Raoul, having drawn out three chairs and seated his guests, placed his arm about Teresa’s waist and led her into the inner room.

“Maman! Papa!” he shouted.

An excited babble broke out in the background.

“Come to think of it,” Alleyn said, “I’m damned hungry. Raoul told me his papa was particularly good with steak. Filet mignon? What do you think?”

“Are we going to be allowed to pay?”

“No. Which means that good or bad we’ll have to come back for more. But my bet is, it’ll be good.”

The hubbub in the background came closer, and Raoul reappeared accompanied by a magnificent Italian father and a plump French mother, both of whom he introduced with ceremony. Everybody was very polite, Ricky was made much of and a bottle of extremely good sherry was opened. Ricky was given grenadine. Healths were drunk, Teresa giggled modestly in the background. M. Milano made a short but succinct speech in which he said he understood that Monsieur and Madame Ahlaine had been instrumental in saving Teresa from a fate that was worse than death and had thus preserved the honour of both families and made possible an alliance that was the dearest wish of their hearts. It was also, other things being equal, a desirable match from the practical point of view. Teresa and Raoul listened without embarrassment and with the detachment of connoisseurs. M. Milano then begged that he and Madame might be excused as they believed they were to have the great pleasure of serving an early dinner and must therefore make a little preparation with which Teresa would no doubt be pleased to assist. They withdrew. Teresa embraced Raoul with passionate enthusiasm and followed them.

Alleyn said: “Bring a chair, Raoul. We have much to say to each other.”

“Monsieur,” Raoul said without moving, “no mention has been made of my neglect of duty this afternoon. I mean, Monsieur, my failure, which was deliberate, to identify Teresa.”

“I have decided to overlook it. The circumstances were extraordinary.”

“That is true, Monsieur. Nevertheless, the incident had the effect of incensing me against Teresa who, foolish as she is, has yet got something which caused me to betray my duty. That is why I spoke a little sharply to Teresa. With results,” he added, “that are, as Monsieur may have noticed, not undesirable.”

“I have noticed. Sit down, Raoul.”

Raoul bowed and sat down. Madame Milano, beaming and business-like, returned with a book in her hands. It was a shabby large book with a carefully mended binding. She laid it on the table in front of Ricky.

“When my son was no larger than this little Monsieur,” she said, “it afforded him much amusement.”

“Merci, Madame,” Ricky said, eyeing it.

Troy and Alleyn also thanked her. She made a deprecating face and bustled away. Ricky opened the book. It was a tale of heroic and fabulous adventures enchantingly illustrated with coloured lithographs. Ricky honoured it with the silence he reserved for special occasions. He removed himself and the book to another table. “Coming, Mum?” he said and Troy joined him. Alleyn looked at the two dark heads bent together over the book and for a moment or two he was lost in abstraction. He heard Raoul catch his breath in a vocal sigh, a sound partly affirmative, partly envious. Alleyn looked at him.

“Monsieur is fortunate,” Raoul said simply.

“I believe you,” Alleyn muttered. “And now, Raoul, we make a plan. Earlier today, and I must say it feels more like last week, you said you were willing to join in an enterprise that may be a little hazardous: an enterprise that involves an unsolicited visit to the Chèvre d’Argent on Thursday night.”

“I remember, Monsieur.”

“Are you still of the same mind?”

“If possible, I feel an increase of enthusiasm.”

“Good, now, listen. It is evident that there is a close liaison between the persons at the Château and those at the factory. Tonight the commissary will conduct an official search of the factory and he will find documentary evidence of the collaboration. It is also probable that he will find quantities of illicitly manufactured heroin. It is not certain whether he will find direct and conclusive evidence of sufficient weight to warrant an arrest of Mr. Oberon and Dr. Baradi and their associates. Therefore, it would be of great assistance if they could be arrested for some other offense and could be held while further investigations were made.”

“There is no doubt, Monsieur, that their sins are not confined to contraband.”

“I agree.”

“They are capable of all.”

“Not only capable but culpable! I think,” Alleyn said, “that one of them is a murderer.”

Raoul narrowed his eyes. His stained mechanic’s hands lying on the table, flexed and then stretched.

“Monsieur speaks with confidence,” he said.

“I ought to,” Alleyn said drily, “considering that I saw the crime.”

“You—”

“Through a train window.” And Alleyn described the circumstances.

“Bizarre,” Raoul commented, summing up the incident. “And the criminal, Monsieur?”

“Impossible to say. I had the impression of a man or woman in a white gown with a cowl or hood. The right arm was raised and held a weapon. The face was undistinguishable although there was a strong light thrown from the side. The weapon was a knife of some sort.”

“The animal,” said Raoul, who had settled upon this form of reference for M. Oberon, “displays himself in a white robe.”

“Yes.”

“And the victim was a woman, Monsieur?”

“A woman. Also, I should say, wearing some loose-fitting garment. One saw only a shape against a window blind and then for a second, against the window itself. The man, if it was a man, had already struck and had withdrawn the weapon which he held aloft. The impression was melodramatic,” he added, almost to himself. “Over-dramatic. One might have believed it was a charade.”

“A charade, Monsieur?”

“Dr. Baradi offered the information that there were charades last night. It appears that someone played the part of the Queen of Sheba stabbing King Solomon’s principal wife. He himself enacted a concubine.”

“Obviously he is not merely a satyr but also a perverted being — a distortion of nature. Only such a being could invent such a disgusting lie.”

While he grinned at Raoul’s scandalized sophistry Alleyn wondered at the ease with which they talked to each other. And, being a modest man, he found himself ashamed. Why, in Heaven’s name, he thought, should he not find it good to talk to Raoul, who had an admirable mind and a simple approach? He thought: “We understand so little of our fellow creatures. Somewhere in Raoul there is a limitation but when it comes to the Oberons and Baradis he, probably by virtue of his limitation, is likely to be a much more useful judge than…”

“The Queen of Sheba,” Raoul fumed, “is a Biblical personage. She was the chère amie of the Lord’s anointed. To murder he adds a blasphemy which has not even the merit of being true. Unfortunately he is left-handed,” he added in a tone of acute disappointment.